


Speak My Language of Love

by BazzyBelle



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Acts of Kindness, Boys In Love, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Fluff, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Languages, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, acts of service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazzyBelle/pseuds/BazzyBelle
Summary: It isn't always easy to say what the heart feels. Words get jumbled, thoughts get hazy, and nerves sometimes keep us from expressing the things we want to express.Fortunately, where words fail, actions speak. And for some, that's the best way to show the person you love just how much you love them.That's the case for Simon Snow after all.He's ready to show Baz just how much he truly loves him...And Baz? Well, ever the master of words himself, he's got his own way to reciprocate the love back to Simon.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 39
Kudos: 207





	Speak My Language of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tbazzsnow (Artescapri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/gifts).



> Dedicated to the amazing [TBazzSnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow) for her birthday! My dear, you are SUCH an inspiration and I admire your character, your writing, and you as a person. You are the best Beta a writer could ask for and a dear dear friend to me. Sharing nerdy stories and discussions with you is something I look forward to.
> 
> You are the most caring individual and deserve the world. You are absolutely the Fandom Godmother.
> 
> Happy birthday, love!
> 
> Thank you so much to [F-Ing-Ruthless-Baz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation) and [Giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giishu) for their Beta work and plot discussion for this one! Love you my Vitamin D friends!
> 
> For everyone else... enjoy some gratuitous fluff and love. ^_^

**SIMON**

Sundays have become my favourite day of the week. 

I’ve never really given much thought into how much I love certain days. Usually, back at Watford, they would all kind of be the same. I liked it that way. I would get up, have breakfast, go to classes, have lunch, go to some more classes, have tea, and then do my homework before going to bed. Aside from the occasional mission or a fight with Baz, my days would stay the same. Weekends would be spent with Penny, doing more homework, possibly some more missions. 

That was my standard. My everyday. And I was fine with it. I didn’t have to think much. It was great. 

Then everything changed, and the days started to blend together, and whether it was Sunday, Wednesday, or Friday, it didn’t matter. It was all grey and bleak, and hopeless.

For a moment, I’d even believed that was the life I’d deserved. That it was all I was worth. It took a while to climb out of that hole, and I wasn’t sure I was worth the trouble.

Things are different now. Now that I’ve started to get help again. Now that I’ve started to find meaning in my life again. 

The days have also been better, because of Baz.

Because I fought for him; I fought to _allow_ myself to have him; I fought to allow myself to love him and for him to love me back. 

So now most of my days are filled with sweet kisses, morning snuggles, and hasty preparations as we get on with our schedules. Even though I still share a flat with Penny, Baz is here so often, he may as well be living here. In fact, I wish he was. Living with me, that is. The nights where he goes back to his flat are the nights I dread the most. I’ll spend most of my evenings messaging him, and the rest of the evening missing him. It’s even harder for me to sleep when he’s not around. Not having him with me is enough to keep me anxious, so I’ve taken to sleeping in his t-shirts. With the smell of cedar and bergamot near me, I’m able to sleep easier. 

For what it’s worth, it’s always amazing when Baz comes back. In fact, a few times, Penny has had to leave when we’re together (now, she just spends the days with Shepard). I’d feel worse about it, but I keep finding various different varieties of _protection_ and _lubrication_ around the flat, and I certainly haven’t bought them.

We’ve talked about it, us living together again, and we both want it. We also think we should take things slow. Everything about us was so fast and furious, it nearly destroyed us. Now, we want to take our time, enjoy the dating and the romance and let us miss each other every once in a while. So he’ll split his time between here and his own flat. 

Baz typically comes over on Thursday and leaves on Monday (sometimes he’ll come on Wednesday as well), and like I said, my favourite day has become Sunday. 

Sundays like today, where I wake up and the first thing I feel is a pair of strong, cool arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close. I smile into my pillow. I love feeling Baz like this, knowing he’s here with me. Waking up in his arms is the perfect way to begin the day (I’m thankful that we found a spell that allows me to retract my wings during the night). 

I trail my fingers softly across one of his arms. Baz makes some soft sounds in response. He must still be dreaming. I very carefully turn to face him (Baz isn’t really a heavy sleeper, and it doesn’t take much to wake him up) (I’ve been making an effort to make sure he sleeps throughout the night). 

His mouth is partially opened, and his hair is half stuck to his face, half sticking out at all ends (he hates his bed-head) (I find it endearing). I push some of the hair away from his face and stare at his closed eyes. 

I love him like this. 

Peaceful, happy, safe. 

Having Baz stay the night with me, isn’t just for my benefit, but for his as well. He's always so exhausted when he comes back to the flat. He’ll never admit it (arrogant prat), but I don’t think he gets much sleep, being alone in his flat. We’ve slept in the same room every day (for the most part) since we were eleven. Sleeping close to each other is comforting, for the both of us. I know that, since eighth year, Baz has more trouble sleeping completely alone. Again, he won’t tell me that himself, but the proof is in the dark bags under his eyes, the sleepy smiles he gives me when he walks through the front door, and the fact that he can barely stay awake past 8 o’clock during our first night together. 

So to see him now, calm, tranquil, and soundly asleep (so much that my movements haven't woken him up yet), it warms my heart. 

I cuddle up closer to him and give him a light kiss on the tip on his nose (it’s my favourite spot to kiss him) (to remind us both of how far we’ve come) (and I just like his nose). Baz sighs a little bit and buries his face deeper into the pillow. That usually means he’s starting to wake up, but is trying to cling to whatever sleep he can (frankly, it’s the cutest thing in the world). 

I softly drag my hand down the side of his face, making Baz hum into his pillow. His eyelids start to flutter, so I touch my lips to them, one at a time. I keep tracing my fingers up and down his face, rubbing soft circles near the back of his jaw. I nuzzle my nose to his and start placing strategic kisses across his cheek. With every kiss I give him, Baz mumbles some more. I smile a little and slowly lift my hand to brush some more of his hair away from his face. I take that opportunity to run my fingers across his scalp, lightly scratching it. 

“Mmmm… Simon…” he whispers. He’s definitely waking up now. I press a small kiss on his lips. 

His eyes blink open and the smile he gives me is one of my favourite things about mornings with Baz. His smile is one that he reserves only for me (I’ve never really seen it anywhere else). His lips softly curl upwards, almost flirty, but innocent at the same time. His eyes will drift away from me for a split second, as if he’s momentarily shy to expose himself to the tenderness of waking up like this (in my arms). But they’ll come back up to meet mine and relax. His tongue will slowly trail the bottom of his lips and his smile will widen a little more, barely exposing his teeth (he’s so timid about his teeth) (we’ve been working on that) (he doesn’t cover his mouth when eating as often as he used to). 

Baz brings his hand to my face and runs the back of it down my cheek. I clasp my hand onto his and bring it to my lips. I deliberately start kissing it, letting my lips explore the cool surface.

Every bump. 

Every curve.

Every line. 

I bring his hand to my chest and let it stay there, as I brush another kiss on his forehead. Baz laughs a little bit and snuggles up close to me. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close.

I feel cold lips against my neck, as Baz starts kissing me. He mumbles something against my skin, but I can’t exactly hear it. 

“What was that, darling?” I ask him. 

He lifts his head to me and smiles, still some sleep lingering in his eyes. 

_“Amore mio, ti amo.”_

I snort a small laugh through my nose. _My boyfriend, the hopeless romantic_. I pull him up for another kiss and we remain as we were. For a few more minutes. 

I love Sunday mornings with Baz, in bed. 

* * *

  
  


He’s in the bathroom. Still.

We only just spent an hour cuddling and kissing in bed, yet he feels it completely necessary to primp himself up. 

He’s so bloody vain. 

(I love it).

He’ll take nearly an hour to pat down the bed-head (no more gel for him, thank Crowley), rinse and moisturize his face, and clean himself up before emerging from the bathroom, all polished and pretty-looking. 

As if I didn’t spend the time in bed, twirling his hair through my fingers, kissing every inch of his face, and trailing my fingers over every exposed part of him. 

But Baz is Baz and he’s got his routine, just as I’ve got mine. 

And mine includes getting breakfast ready for the both of us. 

Baz is impossible in the kitchen. He is one of the smartest people I know (the other being Penny) and one of the most capable mages I know (also, shares that title with Penny), but unfortunately, none of those skills follow him into the kitchen. He is able to boil a pot of pasta, so it’s not nothing. I don’t mind. I rather enjoy cooking, and Baz cleans up after me, so I get to freshen up and read a graphic novel (currently reading _Saga_ ), while he washes dishes. 

There’s a recipe for French-styled omelettes that I’ve been meaning to try out, and today seems to be as good a day as any to try making them. Baz likes French food, and these omelettes take a lot of butter to make, so I’m happy as well. 

As I reach into the refrigerator to grab some eggs, I notice one of Baz’s container’s of blood towards the back. The container feels very cold. I take the container out and leave it on the counter to thaw out. Baz usually takes care of heating up and feeding himself, but today I decide to do it for him. 

He used to feed right before going to bed. He’d do it quietly, while I was practicing sword fighting. I hated that he still felt he had to hide that part of himself from me, after all we’d been through. Slowly, through arguments and silent coaxing, I convinced him to feed in the morning, during breakfast. He still gets a little anxious about it, but that’s what holding his hand and reassuring him is for. 

Baz’s finals are coming up, and he’s been stressed out over finishing his final projects and making sure he has enough time to study. If I can take one little thing off of his mind, that will be worth it for me. 

I put a kettle on for some tea and start to work on the omelettes. I hear Baz still in the bathroom, the water running (probably following his 12-step skin care regime or something) (I can never keep up). 

This feels right. Me being here, cooking breakfast, waiting for my boyfriend to join me. It feels like we could do this all the time; Everyday. 

I want that, the more I think about it. I want it more than anything. 

Waking up to Baz, sharing secret kisses throughout the day. 

Splitting up chores and tasks. Texting each other dinner plans and shopping lists. 

To have him to come home to, and to know he’ll always come home to me. 

Snuggling on the couch, playing with his hair while he reads. Or have him run his fingers over my stomach as I look up recipes and watch cooking videos. 

Holding him close as I kiss him tenderly. Hearing the sweet sighs and moans as he kisses me back.Taking him in my arms and carrying him into the bedroom (or him carrying me) (I love his vampire-strength) and taking great care to love every inch of him.

To be able to fall asleep in his arms, or to have him fall asleep in mine. 

I know we said we would wait, but we’ve waited enough, haven’t we? Our relationship has seen so many trials and tribulations, during which I almost lost sight of just how much he meant to me. 

I don’t want to risk losing him again, and I don’t want to be far from him again. 

It’s been almost two years since our trip to America, two years since I nearly made the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t want to wait anymore. 

I want to ask him to move in with me, or to get our own little flat. But I think I’ll ask him once his exams are through. It wouldn’t be fair to throw this on him when he’s got so much on his mind. 

For now, I’m going to enjoy these little moments of domesticity with him, while I have him with me. 

Which means finishing up breakfast (the omelettes aren’t perfect) (They got some colour on them) (but not terrible for a first attempt), getting the tea ready, and heating up the blood for him. 

I bring a pot of water to boil, and place a metal bowl on top of it (double boiling the blood and constantly stirring it prevents it from coagulating and burning) (the butcher down the road gave me that advice). 

As I heat up the blood, I laugh to myself. I was able to get breakfast ready, have the tea set to be poured, _and_ have his blood almost completely heated up, and Baz still isn’t out of the bathroom. From the sounds I hear, I don’t think he’ll be in there much longer. I grab a large mug (it’s comically big, and sparkly, and has a purple unicorn on it) (Baz adores it) (he calls it his “feeding mug”) and start pouring the blood inside, when I hear the door open. 

“Glad you could join me. Did you get stuck staring at yourself in the mirror again?”

“Shut up, Snow. I know you love and encourage my vanity. Don’t act so dumbfounded when I take a little bit of extra time to perfect my image.” 

He’s right. I’m just as bad as he is when it comes to appreciating his beauty. But _Crowley_ , can anyone blame me? Baz looks like a model even on his worst days. 

But today?

Yeah, no… Definitely not his worst day. 

His hair is styled in a low bun, with some strategic (it’s Baz… everything is intentional) strands framing his face. Speaking of which, it looks radiant. He’s positively glowing. I smile, knowing that’s because he had a full night’s sleep and is well-rested as a result. Another reason I love Sundays, Baz is caught up on sleep by this time.

He’s wearing a simple navy blue shirt, with a v-neck cut and quarter-length sleeves. He’s also wearing some dark jeans that fit and shape him so perfectly that it takes effort for me to look away. Baz catches me staring at him and makes his way over to me, walking painfully slow. 

“Keep proving me right, Snow. With the way you’re gaping, I could prob--”

Baz’s sentence stops short as he notices what I’m doing. 

Right. The blood.

Baz reaches out towards the prepared mug and looks up at me. I worry for a split second that he’s angry with me, but the look on his face tells me otherwise. His entire face has softened. The sharp lines have gone away, and his brows have lost the sarcastic edge to them. 

“Simon… did you?” He whispers, in a barely audible voice. 

I shrug and hold out the mug to him. “Figured you’d want it ready, so that we can have breakfast, yeah?”

Baz doesn’t say anything. Instead, he walks towards me and gently places his hands on either side of my face. I’m a little surprised by this (really, I just heated up some blood for him, it’s not a big deal), but I smile anyway. He starts kissing me, but gently, making sure to handle me with care. 

He pushes back some of my curls and gives me such a soft, tender look, that I nearly melt into his arms. 

_“S’agapo, se latrevo.”_

My smile widens and I sigh out a small laugh. I put the mug on the table and wrap my arms around his neck. I pull him towards me and smash my lips into him, kissing him deeply. 

I don’t fully understand what he’s saying to me, but I know I feel the same way. 

* * *

  
  


I should get him a snack. I should get us both a snack. 

I mean, I’ve been snacking all day, so it’s not really a necessity. 

But I could go for a scone or two, and Baz will forget (neglect, more like it) to eat something if I’m not there pestering him. 

I put my book down and stretch out a little bit on the sofa. My wings have since made an appearance, so I give them a little flap. I get up from my spot and walk to Baz. 

He’s hunched over on the kitchen table right now, poring over books about macroeconomics and accounting. He hates this stuff. I can see it in the way he studies. When we were in Watford, Baz was always so calm when studying. It would drive me mad, seeing how everything came so easily for him, when I was constantly struggling. 

I stand behind him, give him a small kiss on top of his head and rub his shoulders. He gives me a small smile, trying to reassure me, but it’s not working. I can clearly see how he’s struggling. I don’t think he’s moved on from the book he was studying (or even the page he was studying). He doesn’t hold the same excitement for learning as he did back at Watford, when we were studying languages and history. 

He did take a course in English literature this semester, and was a lot happier doing the work for that class. I hope he considers changing his major. Baz is only taking these classes because he thinks it’s what he father wants. I think he worries about that a little too much.

I don't know his father very well (Malcolm Grimm is a terrifying person) (I was certain he would put a hit on me or something) (like an old school mobster). However, after having several awkward dinners with the Grimm family, and just spending time with them on account of dating Baz, I noticed several things. Like how Malcolm will momentarily smirk whenever Baz says something witty, or how he’ll discuss politics and listen to Baz’s opinions. He’s asked him several times about school, and I’ve noticed how he frowns when Baz avoids the question. 

Baz’s father will never tell him that he’s proud of him, but you can see it. I don’t think Baz has anything to worry about regarding his father’s approval. I think Malcolm is just thankful that he’s still alive and coming to dinner (he’s even tried to initiate conversation with _me_ of all people). 

As far as I’m concerned, Malcolm Grimm just wants his son to be happy (a fact I keep bringing up to Baz).

For now, Baz continues to worry about classes he hates, and exams he doesn’t want to write. I just want him to eat something, or drink some water. 

“You should eat something.” I say to him.

“I will. I just want to review this chapter a couple more times.” He turns back to his book and takes down a couple more notes. I start to play with his hair, twirling the soft strands between my fingers (the bun came undone hours ago). 

“Have you taken a break?”

Baz makes a sound, a light scoff, and he rolls his eyes. “Breaks don’t exist during finals, Snow.”

I give him another kiss. “You should take a break. Come on. I’ll get you something to eat.”

I wrap my arms around him and carefully maneuver my fingers over his. Baz sighs and relents. He puts his pen down and allows me to link my fingers with his. He leans back, against the chair, so I tilt over and give him a small kiss on his cheek. I tug at his arms, persuading him to get up from his spot. 

Baz follows me into the kitchen, where he leans against the counter. I pull out some grapes, apples, and oranges from the refrigerator. I grab a cutting board and begin slicing up the oranges. I nod towards the grapes. 

“Can you wash those, love?” I ask Baz. The small blush on his face doesn’t go unnoticed as he starts rinsing out the grapes. 

We finish plating the fruit, and I lead him into the living room. He glances at his books, still splayed out on the kitchen table, but I gently pull him towards the sofa. I take out my mobile and put a timer for 10 minutes. 

“Ten minutes. We sit and relax for ten minutes and then you go back. Alright?”

I sit down on the sofa and pat the spot next to me. Baz joins me and leans his head on my shoulder. 

“Only you can sway me away from my studies like this.” He whispers.

“I know. I’m a terrible influence. Here making you healthy snacks, and ensuring that you stay properly hydrated.” I roll my eyes and feed him a grape. I take an apple slice for myself. 

“And you thought I was the one plotting all those years. This was a positively devilish plan to distract me”, he says, as he pops a couple more grapes into his mouth (his hand twitches to cover his mouth, but I take hold of it).

“You say distraction, I say diversion.” I take a big bite of an orange slice. 

“Potato, potahto…” he replies. 

We stay like this for a few more minutes, quietly snacking on the fruits. I start to wonder if I should extend the timer a little bit more, because Baz looks really relaxed right now, as I fed him more grapes. He presses a small kiss to my face and smiles at me. 

“ _Bahebak ya habibi._ ” 

He’s said that one to me before, I think it’s his favourite one. There is such a fondness in Baz’s eyes, when he looks at me, that I feel a strong twinge in my chest. I gather him closer to me and place a small kiss on the tip of his nose, just as the timer goes off. 

Baz sighs, disappointed. I give him a small shake. 

“Time to get back to work. Don’t forget to eat this time.”

Baz simply rolls his eyes and smirks at me before getting up off the sofa. 

“If you insist, Snow.”

So dramatic, my boyfriend. 

* * *

I’ve been doing some journaling outside on the balcony (my therapist’s idea, I don’t always remember to do it). I’m trying to be better at it, and so far it has helped with the intrusive thoughts, the spiraling feelings of worthlessness and self-doubt. 

The belief that everyone would be better off without me. 

Writing isn’t always easy for me, so my journaling has a bit of writing, with some drawings thrown in between, some sarcastic quips in the middle of a sentence. My therapist says that so long as I find a way to express myself, the method doesn’t matter. What matters is that I document my thoughts and feelings in order to process them. These journals are for me to understand, and not for anyone else. 

I must have been journaling for quite some time, because the sun has started to set. I should probably start getting supper ready. I wonder how Baz has been managing with his studying. 

I’m hoping to find him relaxed, calmly taking down notes and highlighting important information. I’m hoping he’ll greet me with a smile and tell me how he’s feeling more confident about his exams. I’m hoping that he’ll remember he’s _Baz Pitch_ , brilliant scholar _and_ mage, and that nothing is too complicated for him. 

I notice him as soon as I walk back into the flat, and it’s not good. 

The books and notes have been piled to the side in a haphazard way (not like Baz at all) (though still better than me), pens and highlighters abandoned to the side. Baz has both his fists in his hair and he’s looking down at the table. I can see his back rising and falling in rapid succession, and he’s shaking his head. 

I quickly go to him and pull up a chair. I place one of my hands tentatively over his and give it a light squeeze. He clutches onto his hair even tighter, shaking his head violently. My hand moves to his back and I rub small circles. 

“Baz? Hey… what’s happened?” I try to pull him closer to me, but he’s not budging. I know he’s been stressed, but he’s never been like this because of school. I push myself closer to him and wrap my arm around his shoulder. My other hand, reaches up to where he’s still pulling at his hair, and try again to get him to stop. He’s not ready to talk, but I can comfort him. My thumb runs over his hand very slowly and I give his shoulder a squeeze. Baz is breathing heavily, but he isn’t crying. He looks more angry, frustrated.

I give his hand another squeeze and whisper softly to him “It’s ok… I’m here. You can breathe.”

His hand eventually relaxes and comes down. I keep holding onto it and bring it to my face. I nuzzle the inside of his palm and give it a little kiss. His other hand stops pulling at his hair and drops. I feel a little better now that neither one of his hands are in his hair anymore, but he still won’t look at me. Instead, he’s blankly staring at the pile of books. 

I shift my hand under his chin and tilt his head towards mine. His heavy lidded eyes are just fully grey. Grey irises, grey lids, faded grey rings underneath. I want to take his stress away, to have him calm and happy, and at peace, like he was this morning. 

So I bring his face closer to mine and give him a tiny, gentle kiss on his lips. I smile at him and run my thumb over his chin. 

“Talk to me.”

He sighs, and although he’s turned his face away from me again, his body has shifted closer to mine. I give him a squeeze and pull him closer. My hand moves to his and grabs a hold of them. I don’t want him to start tugging at his hair again. I envelop my hand over his and run my thumb over his knuckles. 

“No matter how hard I try, how important I know this all is, this information refuses to stick with me!” Baz is growling, and I feel his hand tighten around mine. He’s itching to claw at his hair again, but I won’t let him. I give him a light kiss on his cheek and continue to stroke his hand. 

“This isn’t me,” he continues. “I’ve been revising the same bloody chapter all day! It isn’t working! I’ve tried everything!”

I give him another kiss on his shoulder and nuzzle him. I don’t know what to say (I’m never good at these kind of thing), so I just let him talk. As long as he keeps talking to me, he won’t be stuck in his own head. 

“I go to class and I’m paying attention, but... “

I rub his shoulder up and down. 

_Keep talking, love… you’re almost there._

“I don’t bloody care! About any of it!” He’s shouting now, and his hands are straining against me. I hold on tight to him and keep kissing his shoulder. My other hand moves to his back. I start rubbing it delicately, in an effort to soothe him.

Baz leans his head against mine, giving my curls a little nuzzle. 

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to change my major.”

I sigh in relief. I was hoping he would come to his senses about this. This is good. This is really good. 

“Yeah? What were you thinking of changing to?”

“I was thinking of either English Literature, or Linguistics.”

I jerk my head up. I was expecting English literature, but _Linguistics_? We were supposed to have a linguistics programme at Watford, but that never happened (even though Penny fought tooth and nail for one). I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, Baz is a master at languages, picking them as easily as I pick up recipes. 

“You do love languages. You were such a prat… insulting me in Latin, and Greek, especially French,” I chuckle. I start to play with his hair, twirling my fingers though the strands. I lightly scratch the base of his scalp, and Baz shudders (I love it when he does that) and laughs. 

“Sometimes it’s easier to speak your thoughts in different languages.” Baz leans a little lower, until his head is resting on my shoulder. I continue to run my fingers slowly through his hair, smoothing out the mess caused by him pulling at it. One of my wings wraps around him and embraces him, causing him to hum happily.

“I think it’s a good idea,” I start. When Baz gets quiet like this, it means he’s waiting to hear what I think. “I think you’ll be happier in a program you actually enjoy.” 

Baz looks up at me and smiles. He pulls one of his hands away from mine and cups my cheek with it, running his thumb over my brow. 

“ _Te adoro, mi amor._ ”

I brush some hair away from his eyes and give him a soft kiss. It almost sounds like the same thing he told me this morning, but a little different. My heart swells, with each different language he speaks to me. I wish I could say it back to him, but the words... They get jumbled in my mind when I try to say them. 

That’s why I do things like bring him snacks, play with his hair, calm him down when he needs me to. That is how I say it back, and I think he understands that. 

“Feel like helping me with supper?” I ask him. 

“Is it complicated?”

I roll my eyes. Baz can be such a baby about the kitchen and helping with dinner preparation. I lift myself from the chair and give his hand a little shake. Baz gives me a pouty look, and sticks his tongue out at me. I laugh and tug at him.

“Come on, you lazy sod! You just have to boil the pasta! I’m going to make the pesto.”

His eyes light up. Of course they do. Baz loves pesto sauce. I almost had a heart attack the first time I saw him eating some. I thought the garlic in the sauce would kill him. Instead he laughed at me and gave me a sloppy, garlicky kiss. Apparently the whole garlic thing and vampires is a total myth. The most it’ll do is maybe get him a little sick. Not that it stops him from loading all his dishes with garlic anyway. (“ _What do you expect, Simon? I live with Fiona. She eats garlic like it’s a condiment!”_ ).

He gets up and drapes his arms over my wings and shoulders. I’m practically dragging him into the kitchen. He does this often. It’s his way of being cute and flirtatious (it works). I try to look annoyed with him (I can’t). I should probably bat his arms away (I won’t). 

I point to the refrigerator, with a playful smile on my face. “Do you mind getting the basil, _Basil_?” Baz frowns at me, but is doing a poor job at hiding the smirk beneath his lips. 

“My boyfriend, the comedian. So drole, Snow,” he says, rolling his eyes. He gets me a container of basil I had chopped up and preserved in some olive oil. He then sets about boiling the water, while I make the pesto. 

I can’t help but stare at him as he stirs the pasta (bowties). His hair is completely loose, falling over the sides of his face. He’s holding the wooden spoon elegantly (like he holds his wand) in his left hand and stirring lazily. His right hand is resting on his hip. That blue shirt looks so good on him, stretching over his back and shoulders, revealing his forearms. 

He’s wonderful. All of him; all that makes him Baz Pitch is wonderful. And although he has been stressed out of his mind, he does a lot better here, than he does back in his own flat. He feels better when he’s with me. 

_I want to have him._

_Can I have you, Baz? Here with me?_

He looks up at me, and cocks an eyebrow. 

“See something you like, Snow?” 

I can’t hide the bright red flush starting at my ears. I smile and give him a slow, appreciative look. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Pitch.”

Baz shakes his head and turns back to the pasta. I finish mixing up the pesto and taste it. It could use some more parmesan, but otherwise, I think it tastes wonderful. I scoop some more on the spoon and bring it to Baz. He tucks some of his hair behind his ear, as I feed him the pesto. 

And the look on his face is why I love cooking. His eyes are closed and his tongue runs over his lips. He arches his back slightly and sighs deeply. A deep “Mmmmm” escapes his lips. 

And people say _I’m_ the one obsessed with food. They haven’t seen Baz appreciate my cooking. I swear to Merlin, if Penny were here, she’d yell at us for being inappropriate. 

“So it’s good then?” I chuckle at him, and give him a light shove. 

“Needs more garlic,” he says, barely containing his smile as he focuses on the pasta again. I scoff out a laugh. He always says it needs more garlic. There’s enough garlic in here for me to taste it on his tongue for the next month!

Baz strains the pasta and dumps it back into the pot, with some leftover water (one of the first cooking tips I taught him). He hands the pot back to me, and I start mixing in the sauce, with some extra parmesan cheese. I feel his cool arms wrapping around my waist and his head nuzzling the crook of my neck. My tail wraps around his waist as well, pulling him a little closer. 

“You amaze me everyday, Simon.”

“I know you love pesto, Baz, but you’re being a little dramatic, yeah?” I nudge him lightly in the stomach. Baz trails soft kisses down the edge of my face, towards the mole on my neck (his favourite target). He makes his way to my ear and gives it a gentle kiss. 

_“Je t’aime tellement, mon amour,”_ he whispers to me. 

I drop the wooden spoon and face him. That time, I understood him. I may not be a genius in languages like he is, but I can understand basic French (somewhat) (enough to know what _je t’aime_ means). Baz gazes at me, his eyes full of light, love and a deep fondness that only comes when he’s looking at me. The back of his hand trails down my face, and makes its way slowly to the back of my neck. He slowly pulls me close to him and our lips meet. 

I feel the sparks fly. I love the feel of the sparks and jitters whenever Baz kisses me. The shivers that trail down my back and settle in my stomach. 

I love the way my heart races as he touches me. How my body responds by pulling him closer and closer. 

Wings wrapping. 

Tail coiling. 

I love to touch him often because the way his heart jumps when I do, reminds him that he’s alive. 

_So alive._

He’s so alive, and I’m so lucky to have him; to hold him; to spend Sundays with. 

I love Sundays with Baz. 

* * *

**BAZ**

I love Sundays with Simon. 

If I didn’t have these bloody finals to worry about, I’d be loving them even more. 

Waking up to his kisses, spending the better part of the morning in bed together. Most Sundays, we’ll cuddle and kiss and whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears. I’ll talk about poetry and literature, while Simon will talk about his sword fighting class, or a new recipe he wants to try, or even the plot of the graphic novel he’s reading. I hold onto it all, every single word, as if they were a spell to breathe life into me. 

To give me my soul back. 

I think I only ever truly feel alive whenever I’m with Simon. The way he holds me in his arms, kisses me, touches me, I feel the light thrumming deep inside. For a second, I forget. For a second, I believe that I’m alive. 

I love him, more than words can describe. 

No matter the language. 

I’ve been doing this experiment (not really an experiment, more like a gesture), all day. Simon and I don’t say “I love you” to each other very often. I want to say it to him, every single time I’m with him. 

In the morning, when we wake up.

_I love you._

Over breakfast, while he holds my hand as I feed. 

_Simon Snow, I love you._

While sitting on his sofa, his head on my lap and reading his graphic novels.

_I love you more than there are stars in the sky, or grains of sand on a beach._

My arms around him, in an embrace, coaxing him away from his swords. 

_I love you, I love you. I love you._

Falling asleep in my arms, my head nestled in his curls. 

_I will always love you._

I don’t say them, not in that way. I’m still afraid that he’ll run away from me again. I’m afraid that if I come on too strong, that I’ll lose him. I really should know better at this point, we’ve been happy for a couple of years now. 

Our therapist (his suggestion) has been working with us on communication. And for both of us to be open and honest to the other. I don’t want to say or do something that will make him uncomfortable (my own anxieties) (yes, I’ve also been seeing a therapist) (also Simon’s suggestion). They suggested finding different methods to communicate if outright words are too difficult. 

To find a way to tell each other how we feel when our words fail us. 

Every time I’ve wanted to tell Simon that I love him, I’ve been telling him in a different language. Before today, I’ve been sticking mainly to Arabic, but there was something about today, about Simon’s actions today, that made me want to push things further with him. To see if he’ll cross that line with me. 

He’d been doing small things for me. Warming up blood, bringing me snacks, forcing me to take study breaks. 

Calming me down when the stress of my exams got to be too much for me to bear. 

Simon Snow is not good with words. They are his biggest nemeses. Simon Snow communicates with punches, kicks, and growls. 

Or… with soft kisses, spontaneous fruit snacks, and garlicky pesto sauce. 

I think he spent the whole day telling me how much he loves me, in his “Simon Snow” way, through small acts of kindness and considerate gestures. With every gesture he gave me, I responded with a different “I love you”. 

Once in Italian, once in Greek, Arabic, Spanish… and finally, French. 

I think once he heard the words in French, he finally understood. The way he looked at me, that last time, the deep fondness in his plain blue eyes. I could have gotten lost in them (I think I did). We kissed and kissed and kissed, until the pasta started to get cold. 

And it was wonderful. 

We’re now sitting on Simon’s bed, relaxing before going to sleep. I’m reading _The Silmarillion_ , while Simon listens to some calming music. His wing is wrapped around me, and his tail has coiled around one of my thighs. 

It’s perfect. It’s everything I could have ever wanted. I only wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow, to go back to my lonely flat, without him. 

I wish we could do this everyday. 

My thoughts are interrupted by Simon grimacing and rubbing his shoulders. I frown. He’s been doing that often today. He did it during breakfast (he had to stretch his back), while we were eating snacks on the couch (his wings needed to flap that time), and while he was sword practicing after supper. 

I lightly graze my index finger over his cheek. He turns to me and smiles, pulling the headphones from his ears. 

“You alright, love?” I ask him.

“Yeah… S’just a little pain in my neck.”

“And your back, shoulders, and wings. You’ve been groaning and grimacing all day.”

He sighs and frowns at me. “It’s nothing, Baz. I think I just pulled a muscle.”

I give him a half-smile, and place the book on my nightstand. I open the small drawer and pull out a bottle of lavender oil. I then lift the blankets and cross my legs. I roll my eyes when Simon gives me a suggestive look (and I thought _I_ was the distrubed one. I’m no match for a frisky Simon Snow).

“Keep those thoughts to yourself Snow. This isn’t what you think.”

I point in front of me “Come here, and sit down.” 

Simon gingerly places himself in front of me and rubs his neck again. I give him a light kiss on his shoulder and his wings flutter a little. I stare at him and how he’s got a light dusting of freckles on both shoulders, and a galaxy of moles dotting their way down his back. 

Crowley, he’s lovely. 

I squeeze a generous amount of the oil onto my hands and press them onto Simon’s shoulders. He shudders a little bit, but his shoulders slump almost instantly. 

I start by lightly pressing my fingers into his shoulders and digging my thumbs into his shoulder blades. Simon groans, but doesn’t flinch, so I continue. I add a little more pressure and feel for any knots and tension under his skin. My thumbs dig a little deeper and rub circles. I can feel some tension under there, which tells me he’s got a larger knot lower down. 

“If I hurt you, please tell me. I think you’ve got a large knot in your back. I’m going to have to put a lot of pressure to work it out.”

“You know I can handle you, Baz. I know you won’t hurt me.”

I smile and continue to rub deep circles into his shoulder blades. I do a few rotations and then smooth my hand over. I give a little more pressure and smooth over again. I start to knead his shoulders with my palm, and Simon sighs. 

“Feels good… your hands. S’nice and cool.”

“Can you lie down on your stomach, sweetheart? I’ll be able to work the knots in your back a lot easier that way.”

Simon nods and lies down in the middle of the bed. He crosses his arms on his pillow and lays his head there. His wings are tucked in against his back and his tail has wrapped around one of his legs. I get on my knees beside him (on his left) and slowly run my fingers down his spine, feeling the bumps and curves of his back. I gently lift one of his wings and trace my finger over the edge to where it connects to the bottom of Simon’s shoulder blade. I plant a small kiss there and feel Simon shudder beneath my lips. 

I pour some more oil onto my hands and rub some gently over his back. I make sure to cover from the top of his shoulders, down to the base of his tail. I am extra careful with his wings, lifting one at a time (I even make sure to cover the joint between his wing and his back). 

“Can you lift up your right wing?” Simon nods, his wing lifts up, and I get to work. I delicately move my palms up and down his back, feeling for the tight knot. With my finger tips, I feel a few small ones, so I try to ease them up, kneading them with the heel. Simon groans, but he doesn’t tell me to stop, so I apply more pressure.

Like with his shoulders, I knead into his back for a few minutes, and then graze my fingertips gently over the spot. I stare at his wing, and I decide to try something. I draw small circles with my thumb and rub a path towards the wing. When I get to it, I start massaging the joint, feeling it between my fingers. I can feel some tension there (makes sense, he’s always working to keep them taught, restrained) (wings need to be spread out) (they need to be free).

I’ll have to find a place to bring him where he can have the space to stretch out his wings and fly without worry or shame (I think my family has a run-down cottage somewhere) (I shall have to speak to my father about that). 

Simon’s groans get a little louder as I continue to work the small muscles there. Once I’m done, I place his wing back down and (without lifting my hands from his back), gently crawl over him to his right side. Simon lifts his head and turns to me. 

“It’s alright, love. Just going to work on your left side now.” I kiss his cheek, and he smiles as he puts his head back down. Without me asking, he lifts up his left wing. 

It doesn’t take me much time to find the knot. It’s immense, taking up a large part of his back. I put some pressure on the knot and Simon jerks. 

I quickly pull my hands away. “Did that hurt?” 

“I think you found the problem,” Simon laughs. 

“We can stop. If it hurts too much.” I won’t hurt him, even if he needs it to feel better. 

“Baz?” He says, half into his pillow. 

“Yes?”

“Shut up and just rub my bloody back,” he laughs again. I give his shoulder a light nudge and a squeeze, and go back to kneading. 

It takes quite some effort to really get in there. He’d been holding in a lot of tension and stress. It makes me wonder how much he’s still keeping to himself. How much he’s still afraid to let go. 

_You don’t have to keep in your burdens with me, Simon Snow. You can let them go._

I press my palm a little further and feel the knot smoothing out. A loud sigh comes out of Simon and he digs his face further into the pillow. I give his back a little kiss (on one of the moles) (near his wing) and start working on the left wing. Simon whispers something, and had I not been a vampire, I would have missed it but… 

I stop what I’m doing and my back goes ramrod straight, because I think I just heard Simon tell me something important. Something I’ve wanted to hear him say for so long, that I’m scared to believe he said it. I also don’t want to ask him and be disappointed. I feel my heart quicken with anticipation and love and I think I feel a small tickle in my eye. I quickly block it away and breathe to keep my wits about me. 

“Simon…” I start. 

“I fucking love you, Baz. So fucking much.” 

For a few seconds, I can’t say anything because I can’t fucking think. I just continue to stare at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly opened (I’m still a disappointment). 

Simon Snow doesn’t do well with words. He needs actions to express himself. For him to be able to say those words to me, in this moment. 

My heart fucking melts. 

I trail my hand over his curls and down to his face. I kiss my favourite mole (the one near his ear), and whisper back. 

“I love you too.”

Simon grins and makes some room for me. I get into bed, next to him and take him in my arms. I hold him close to my heart and think about how much I want this, everyday, for as long as we live. Simon nuzzles his face into my silk pyjamas and gives me a long, tight squeeze. 

“Don’t go, Baz,” he mumbles. 

I cock an eyebrow at him and laugh. 

“I’m snuggled in your bed in my pyjamas, Snow. I don’t think I’m going anywhere tonight.”

“And tomorrow? The day after? The rest of the week?” He lifts himself slightly and gazes into my eyes. I frown at him and balance myself on my elbows. 

“Simon… are you?”

He reaches over, and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. He runs his fingers through my hair and continues to stare at me, his eyes looking at me with such a strong sense of devotion, that I almost want to look away. 

_Oh… Simon…_

“It can happen over summer, yeah? When you’re done classes. Or later, if you want. I just… I...” 

I press two fingers to his lips to shush him. He takes me by the wrist and gives my fingers a small kiss. I want to cry right now. My heart has never felt this… full… this… _ALIVE_ before. I’ve never felt so charged as I do right now. I smile wide (teeth and fangs) and nod at him. 

“You bloody numpty! Of course I will…”

Simon wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me back under the covers, kissing me ferociously. I laugh loudly and unapologetically. 

He’s mine and I’m his. 

And get to have _this_ , everyday. 

I couldn’t want anything more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title for this fic was _5 Times Baz Said "The Words" to Simon (and the 1 Time Simon Said Them Back)_


End file.
